


Dwarves Don't Dream

by AkiRah



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adamant Fortress, Angst, Character Death, Gen, Leaving Hawke in the Fade, Platonic Soulmates, The Fade, Varric and Hawke are Besties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:54:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4508583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric struggles with loss after Hawke is left behind in the Fade at Adamant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Varric felt his heart stop but he kept it from his features. His thick facade of wise nonchalance muffling the panic that flashed in his eyes as they tracked Hawke’s fall from the battlements and into the rift. There was a sound behind him. He cocked Bianca and spun, lodging a bolt between the empty eyes of a warden mage seeking to take advantage of his momentary distraction. The warden slumped over, the last of her fellows. Varric wrinkled his nose as she gurgled, he had always hated the sound of death rattles. Violence was a part of his life and had been since long before he met Hawke, a necessary tool in the dwarven business world, but being good at something and enjoying that something are not the same thing.

Around him the chaos was starting to settle. The archdemon flew off and the wardens who hadn’t been under Corypheus’s influence were corralling demons and possessed mages and submitting to the Inquisition when required.

Varric slung Bianca back over his back and turned his face to the sky where Hawke (and Stroud and Lavellan and Dorian and Bull and Solas) had vanished.

“Where’s the Inquisitor?” Cullen’s shout rang clear and high, a voice built for shouting over battlefields.

Varric pointed. “She fell through a rift up there, Curly.”

“She _what_?”

Varric sighed and gave Cullen’s elbow a pat almost without thinking. Calming panicked humans when someone they loved just vanished was old hat to him and Cullen had the same puppy-dog smile when he looked at Lavellan that Anders had always had when talking to Hawke.

Though Cullen handled Lavellan’s relationship with more grace than Blondie had ever afforded Fenris and Hawke.

There was less bad blood between Cullen and any member of the Inquisition than there was between Anders and Fenris. Perhaps that was the reason.

The other members of Lavellan’s inner circle were starting to gather around now, staring at the place Varric had indicated as though any minute now Lavellan and the rest were going to reappear.

Varric dropped his eyes and adjusted his gloves. “If they show up back up there, Seeker, I would guess we’d have bigger problems.”

Cullen nodded. “Varric’s right.” He turned and started pointing and barking orders to set up a perimeter. They would use this lull to secure the courtyard and have the wounded tended too. The rift in the center still flickered ominously, but the agreement was that this was the most likely place for the Inquisitor’s party to reappear.

Varric settled on a box, Bianca on his lap, to wait for whatever stories Hawke brought out of the Fade with her. She always gave him as many details as available, knowing he would stretch and bend them.

Around him humans bickered about the greater theological implications of what had happened and he quietly prayed Hawke wasn’t dumb enough to open any doors labeled “Black City”. She wasn’t, he hoped, though he’d seen her do some phenomenally stupid things in the past.

Dorian might have been, but with Solas and Bull there it shouldn’t have been an option.

There was a panicked pit in his stomach, hissing acidic fear that this was the end. That Hawke was dead. They were all dead and he had been the cause. If he hadn’t written to her and told her to come, Hawke would still be up North, tracking slavers with Fenris.

But he had because they needed her.

And, privately, because he missed her. New friends were all well and good, he liked people, liked the stories the members of the Inquisition told, but they weren’t his best friend. Hawke shared her stories eagerly and was always willing to go find more. Stories happened to Hawke.

“Smiling, eyes bright and unable to hold her smile to anything moderately polite. Eyes rolling to keep you from noticing. Your best friend. Her best friend. She chuckles, shoves Anders towards the bar. Things are simple for a moment.”

“How ya doin’, kid?” Varric turned to look at where Cole’s voice was coming from and found him perched on the near wall, feet swinging and hands wringing together. “You holding up alright?”

“I’m scared. They took demons. Bound and kept them. Bent them to breaking.”

“We won’t let that happen to you, kid.”

“I know.” Cole offered a small smile, the expression fitting awkwardly on his hollow cheeks. “That’s not why I came. You’re worried. Hurting. Little anxious fears like papercuts. You wanted to remember her. Not be afraid. I wanted to help.”

“Thanks.” Varric ran a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s fine. She-- _they’ll_ all be fine. Just gotta wait ‘til they get back. Shitting ourselves in a panic wouldn’t do anyone any good.”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t long after Cullen got his perimeter set up that the rift started to crackle with life. Varric jumped to his feet, cocked Bianca and pointed her at the opening in case whatever emerged wasn’t friendly.

But he smiled in case it was Hawke.

Solas, Stroud, Dorian, Bull all came tumbling out in a coughing mass of limbs. Varric lowered Bianca as Lavellan rolled out and tugged the rift closed.

Then it hit him.

A cold, sucking, sinking feeling as he counted the heads again.

Stroud, Solas, Dorian, Bull, Lavellan.

And again.

Solas, Bull, Stroud, Dorian, Lavellan.

and again.

Lavellan, Dorian, Stroud, Bull, Solas.

and again.

Bull, Dorian, Stroud, Lavellan, Solas.

“Hawke?” The name broke free of his lips but didn’t make it far enough to reach anyone’s ears over the commotion. Relief broke out over the crowd but failed to touch him. “Hawke?” he called again, just a little louder. Still nothing. He looked up and Lavellan met his eyes and couldn’t hold them. “Where’s Hawke?”

“Hawke. . .” Lavellan swallowed. She raised her head up to look at the Wardens. “Hawke stayed behind to bat--”

Varric went deaf. He could hear of course, he knew words were happening but he couldn’t focus on them.  He looked down at Bianca and found to his surprise that she was blurry. He blinked. Drops hit her shaft.

He hadn’t seen any clouds.

It couldn’t be raining.

A hand settled on his shoulder but he couldn’t quite feel it.

_Look after Varric for me, she smiles, terrified out of her wits but her head held high and cocky. It’s been an adventure, make sure he writes it down. Her hand on your shoulder laughter in your ears. Lying about Bianca for you. Tongue quick and sharper than knives. They didn’t see her die. She might not be dead._

Varric trembled. “Thanks, Kid.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric mourns, and seeks some closure the only way he can think of.

Varric stood on the ramparts, leaning against the wall and staring down at his hands. He had done this. He had caused this. If he’d never written to her, if she hadn’t come to Skyhold none of this had happened. If he’d been _with_ her when she and Lavellan were chasing after Erimond he could have grabbed her, dragged her back. If he’d fallen into the Fade with her he could have begged her not to stay. A million things could have gone differently.

But they hadn’t.

For a moment he’d thought he was angry at Lavellan. How dare she let Hawke die? Let Hawke pull the heroic self-sacrifice cliche that he _swore_ he would never again include in any story.  
But that anger had dimmed and flickered out almost immediately. Talking Hawke out of doing what she thought was the right or even best thing was like trying to talk the Gallows into sinking: it could probably be done, but it required more firepower than anyone had at easy disposal.  
He was not, as a rule, an angry person. But he was angry now. Angry at Hawke and at Andraste. Angry at Corypheus and the Fade and at himself. Angry at all the things that had piled up to take Hawke away from the people who loved her. Who would talk Fenris down now? Who would write to Merrill and send little gifts to Isabela? Who would grin at Anders, remind Aveline that relaxing was _important_ and actually have the lesson stick? Who would pick on Carver while lifting him up to be all he could be? Hawke had been the glue that held their family together.

And she was in the _fucking_ fade.

Varric closed his eyes. Every other race in Thedas touched the Fade at night. But Varric, the person with the most need at that moment, would sleep like the stone. Restful black was all that waited for him in his bedroll.

While Hawke, if she wasn’t dead, wandered in a world he could only comprehend because she’d taken him there back in Kirkwall to rescue Feynriel. He’d hated it. It felt dizzying and smelled too strongly of lyrium.

He’d give anything to go back now.

Varric pushed off the wall and descended the steps slowly. He thought about asking Lavellan to tear the veil and bring Hawke back, but he didn’t think his heart could handle the inevitable rejection. Besides, Lavellan was sequestered with her lover, being fussed over. She needed the fussing after what had happened.  
Varric kept walking. He decided he hated Adamant. The tall black walls were oppressive and deepened already heavy shadows. There was still a risk of demons in the lower levels. Wardens were on guard but . . . Varric didn’t want to think about the Wardens.

A great day for the Inquisition, gaining a famous order at the expense of a single hero.

His hero.

It was politics and yeah, they needed the Wardens in case of another Blight. But the trade had all been one sided. It wasn’t fair.

He followed a stairwell down and caught the blue glow of veilfire. Solas kept to himself more nights.

It gave Varric an idea.

He cleared his throat to announce himself. Solas, to his credit, didn’t startle. He merely straightened from what he was doing and turned to face Varric.

“I have a favor to ask,” Varric forced his voice to it’s usual pleasant medium. “You’re a dreamer, right?”

“All mages are awake in the Fade, Master Tethras.”

 _Master Tethras_ , it felt like one of Varric’s nicknames, said with exasperated fondness. Another time, Varric would have been annoyed that Solas tended to default to _child of the stone_ a lot of the time.

“Yeah, I know, Chuckles. But you can do more than that, right? All your stories? They don’t add up with what I’ve heard from other mages.”  
Solas started to tense and Varric brought his hands up to soothe the ruffled feathers. “I don’t care about why, shit, I met a dreamer once, I’d keep it to myself too, I just . . . have a favor.”

“Hawke?”

“Hawke.”

Solas’s mouth curved to a frown, more empathetic than sympathetic if Varric’s master of cold reading faces hadn’t vanished with his good mood. “I can not bring the Fade here, Varric, nor anything physical.”

“I know, I know, I just . . .” Varric slumped, his head and shoulders dropping. “I need to know if she’s . . . if there’s even a _chance_ , Chuckles. If anyone could survive what you guys saw, it’s Hawke.”

She had such an air of invincibility and it was thicker with the stories Varric told. He knew she was only human. He worried after her, did what he could to protect her. Hid her from the seekers. But even he had started to buy into the con. She wasn’t divine, not like Lavellan. Lavellan survived because Thedas needed her. Hawke survived because surviving was what Hawke did. Dragons, demons, insane templars, blood mages, rampaging Qunari. Everything had tried to kill Hawke and everything had failed. She might be limping and bloody at the end of it, but even when she didn’t come out on _top_ Hawke always managed to come _out_.

Solas nodded, only once. He looked up at the crystal clear sky and exhaled. “I’ll look, I do not know if I’ll find anything.”

“Thanks, I’ll owe you--”

“Nothing. You will owe me nothing. I remember well the pain of not knowing.” Solas turned away. “I will see you in the morning, Varric.”

Varric swallowed and bit down on another “thank you” before walking back the way he’d come. Behind him, the veilfire flickered and died. Varric mounted the steps in the dark, his footsteps feeling heavy and loud even though there was no echo. He reached the ramparts and looked down at his bedroll.

Black nothing waited for him.

Varric settled on his bedroll and grabbed a pen and some paper. He didn’t dream, but he could escape into fiction for a while instead.


	3. Dreamers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas steps into the Fade to find Hawke.

Sleep has always come easily to you and the Fade feels more real than the physical plane ever has. You breathe in and ambient magic tingles on your tongue, a livewire of infinite possibilities. Adamant is old and the veil already thin. You watch remnants of the siege and of a hundred sieges before it and though your heart aches to linger and observe, you think of Varric and you turn your attention elsewhere. Later, when all of this is over you will return to this place. The fade will remember Adamant and all that has passed even when the stones are crushed to dust. 

You do not hurry. You never hurry unless pressed. It is in your nature to move at a relaxed pace. Even when you were younger, rash and impulsive, cocky and more short-sighted than you had admitted, you did not _hurry_ when you did not have to. The nightmare is passed and fear no longer has a stranglehold on this place. This is comforting, you were not looking forward to sneaking passed such a foe. 

Hawke is there, staining the green a deep red, one hand pressed to her middle. You can feel the pain leaking out of her and watch in the background as she relives the moment again and again. The Fade closes behind Lavellan and the nightmare’s leg slammed through Hawke’s stomach. Hawke summoned the last of her strength and threw every ounce of will she had (a truly impressive amount) at the fear demon. 

It fell, dissolved into nothingness as spirits do. Now Hawke sits, staring at the place where the rift had been. She looks up at you and manages a pained, wry smile. It is fortunate she’s a mage, otherwise the true fade would probably have driven her mad. Still, she is no dreamer and she can’t form the fade around her. 

“Hey.” She says by way of greeting, lifting the fingers off her belly wound. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to get me the fuck out of here?” 

“I wish I could.” You do not explain beyond that, and Hawke doesn’t ask. 

“Figures.” She sighs, frustrated tears forming at the corners of her eyes, but she’s too proud to let them fall. “Did everyone make it back?” 

“Yes.”

“And the wardens?” 

“Recruited.” You frown because they are an unnecessary liability. Wardens are single minded in opposing a force they do not understand. Single-mindedness is _never_ wise. “They will serve the inquisition in defeating Corypheus.” 

“That’s good.” Hawke coughs and wipes blood from her lips with her knuckle. “Is . . . Varric. . .”

“Master Tethras will be fine.” You kneel beside her, balanced on the balls of your feet. “In time.” 

“I’m glad.” The first tear hits her cheek. Around you the fade darkens like rain clouds. “That idiot always tries to look after everyone, sometimes he forgets to let anyone look after him.” Her eyes close and her breath weakens. “He should write Fenris. Make Fenris . . . look after him. Maker, he’s going to be so mad at me.” She laughs, the sound hollow and broken into pained gasps. “And he should let someone else look after him. Varric is . . . he’s my best friend. I wouldn’t . . .” Hawke bites down on her lower lip and you reach out to steady her. She leans into your hand. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go.”

“We will look after Varric, I promise.” The words are the only comfort you can offer. She is dying and you can't save her. You will not save her. She is not the world and some sacrifices must be made. But you can look after Varric for her, in your own way, and honor her sacrifice through that action. 

“And Varric will look after everyone else.” 

“I have no doubts.” 

“It got me in the fucking stomach," Hawke grumbles. "I’ve got hours left and I would really rather not. Pain is _great_ for letting you know you're alive, but if I'm _not_ , not really away, I would _really_ rather fucking not.” She gives you a pained, wry smile. “You could make it quicker.”

You nod and power crackles in your hands. Hawke rests her cheeks in your hands and you can feel tears on her skin, round ears pressed to your fingertips.

“Thank you.” 

She goes still and then she starts to break apart. Free of her skin she gives you one last smile and then is gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Varric woke up and couldn’t remember having fallen asleep. He looked down at the sheaf of paper, covered in almost illegible words. Hawke’s story, the parts of it that didn’t make it into _Tale of The Champion_. The time she diffused an assassination attempt with a game of Wicked Grace, her habit of breaking into the Gallows once a year to leave Carver a birthday present. 

The pieces of Hawke that made her a _person_ and not a _legend_. Varric’s thumb smoothed over the dry ink. It was easier to cope during the day. The sun shone and made the shadows shrink away, made the loss less . . . real, for a moment. 

He rubbed the stiffness from his legs and swore that he would never go to sleep sitting again. At least not on the floor. He was too old for this. _They_ were too old for this. Varric caressed Bianca’s stock and promised silently that this was the last adventure, and he knew that he was lying. 

He made his way down the stairs in silence and found Solas already awake. 

“Is she. . .” 

“I’m afraid so,” Solas said softly. “She asked me to tell you how much you meant to her.” 

Varric trembled. He hadn’t expected her to still be _alive_ when Solas found her. He tried to focus on knowing that it meant she hadn’t died alone. That had to be something, didn’t it? It had to mean something. “What did she say?” 

“She couldn’t.” Solas said softly. “It must have been a truly impressive amount.” 

Varric forced a smile through the salt tears dripping down his nose. “Thanks, Chuckles. I . . . I’ve got to let everyone know.” 

“Surely, Varric, you can tend to your own pain first. She would have wanted that. She said at much.” 

Varric sniffed and shook his head. “She would. Always fussing over everyone. Sticking her,” Varric closed his eyes, “her nose into everyone else’s business.” 

“I think she learned compassion from one of the best, Master Tethras.”


End file.
